Flawed Faith
by FirstMateFox
Summary: Fayth Olsen has always had a simple, human life - until she meets a mysterious boy and is plagued with horrifying visions. With her best friend Sam at her side, Fayth is pulled into a sudden whirlwind of danger, discovery, romance and mystery. Join her on her journey to uncover the secrets of the Night World, and discover herself - even as a dark threat looms over her.
1. Chapter 1 - Dreams and Fire

_**(A/N): The series, Night World, does not belong to me (obviously) and Fayth was created by L.J. Smith, but all the OCs are mine! Enjoy (^3^) PS: I know the series was written really really long ago, but I just had to write this. It tells the story of Fayth, the girl Rashel meets during the slave trade in**_ **The Chosen** _ **.**_

1

Dreams and Fire

The chilly autumn wind rustled past her as she hurriedly climbed the large stone steps of the building, clutching a duffel bag to her chest. Mrs. Templeton glanced up at her from the main desk as she burst in through the wide glass doors, breathless and pink from the cold.

"You're late today, sweetie." Mrs. Templeton said, re-adjusting her glasses. She pointed down the hall briefly before turning back to the stack of paper on her table.

"They're down in Study Room 2, down the stairs and round the first left."

She nodded in thanks and rushed on, nearly slipping on her way down. When she finally swung the door open and stumbled to a halt inside the room, all eyes immediately turned to see who'd come in so late. She felt herself go red, and a few girls stifled their giggles. Gina raised an eyebrow at her, then turned back to reading the essay she'd written on the latest book assignment the Waterton Library Club had been given.

The WLC were a group of children who were interested in literature and language, or just books in general. They met at Waterton Library every Friday to talk about recent books, share ideas, maybe do some research on a certain piece of literature they were interested in, or just sit and read anything they wanted to. She'd always been interested in books and writing, so she usually looked forward to the two-hour-long sessions.

Usually.

 _It's not your fault,_ a voice in her head whispered. _It was the dreams..._

 _The dreams._

Light flared painfully behind her eyelids, and there was a broken world, there was smoke and dust and _death_ –

"Fayth!"

It was gone, then, and she was standing at the doorway of the little study room, and her head was spinning…

"Fayth! Over here!" The voice came again, and she whirled around to see a familiar face waving her over. She hurried over to the back of the room and sat down next to the boy who'd called her name, who was sitting at a bench in the corner fiddling subconsciously with a Cheshire Cat keychain. He looked up most disapprovingly at her and, then, with his arms spread out in front of him, announced dramatically, "Ladies, and gentlemen, today we observe a true miracle! The one and only Fayth Caroline Olsen has arrived late, yes, you heard me, _late_ , by _thirteen whole minutes_ for the very first time in the seventeen long years of her life." He shook his head sadly, "Ah, this fateful day shall go down in the greatest history of all histories and be remembered forevermore as the Day When We Lost Faith – " He paused, and then smiled rather smugly as an idea began to take form in his head. "Or should I say, the Day When We Lost _Fay_ – "

"Don't you dare, Sam," she warned. Sam stuck his tongue out at her, but shut his mouth. She rolled her eyes. "It's nothing really, I forgot my handbook at home and had to go back to get it. And thirteen minutes isn't going to make much of a difference – it's not like we're paying attention to whatever new hogwash poem Gina's come up with this time."

Sam looked delighted. "I think 'hogwash' is going to be my new favourite word."

"Well," she started, "Considering that your last favourite word was 'bumfuzzle', I'd say this is quite an improvement."

He threw his keychain at her.

* * *

Fayth's fingers fluttered on the pages of her handbook, and she kept glancing up nervously in case Sam noticed anything was wrong, but he continued his good-natured banter without paying much attention. She hated lying to her best friend, but she couldn't risk mentioning the strange visions she's been having lately. He would've laughed and called her delusional if she told him she'd suddenly blanked out in the middle of the sidewalk, images of black fires raging across the city and pale-faced women with liquid silver eyes and fanged smiles slashed across their faces racing through her mind until she'd crumpled to her knees and vomited into the bushes. It had been a good amount of time before she'd managed to regain her composure and set off for the library.

She shuddered at the memory of the recent bout she'd had. It had been the worst one yet, and she was afraid she was going mad, and would have to visit the doctor soon, or maybe even a psychiatrist. The visions hadn't always been this bad; they'd come to her one night as a bad dream, and she'd awoken in cold sweat, images of roaring dragons and witches gathered over a bubbling cauldron still lingering in her mind. Then they'd come again and again, frequenting her nightmares and haunting her conscience. She was caught between the past and the future, forewarnings of an age of great destruction and endless fires to come, glimpses of years long gone.

It was like she herself was remembering, revisiting her memories, but she'd never actually experienced these things. A Roman war tent, feeding an unfamiliar man grapes from a silver casket as he smiled lazily at her. Surrounded by giggling women wearing lace petticoats and holding ridiculous little parasols to hide their faces. Cold winds howling around her as she pulled herself over the rift in the snow, hail hurtling down from the grey skies. They were there and gone, little bits of someone else's experiences, yet somehow she had a sinking feeling in her gut that something was _missing_ , though her memory did not accept these visions as her own. It was beginning to scare her, these eerie premonitions of a terrible fate, a lone wolf howling at the moon from atop a pile of boulders…

"…and then she said that Simon had told her that he'd heard Gina tell Mora that Lexy thought I was cool, and – " It was like he'd hauled her out from beneath dark waters, and suddenly everything was clear and bright, and she blinked repeatedly, trying to focus on his voice. A pair of bright grey eyes peered out at her from beneath a messy mop of dark curls.

"Fayth? Are you listening?" Sam bent over to look at her open journal, his hair brushing her shoulders. He looked rather apprehensive. "Is that… a wolf? I didn't know you could draw! I can never draw wolves without a reference, they end up looking like the Tasmanian Devil from Loony Toons – "

Fayth released the pencil suddenly, and it clattered to the floor. She hadn't even realized she'd been holding it. There, scrawled on the paper, was a howling wolf shockingly similar to the one she'd seen in her hallucinations. She had no memory of drawing it.

Sam frowned at her, bending to retrieve the fallen pencil, looking a little startled at her sudden reaction. "Okay, something is definitely wrong. I've been trying to ignore it, but you have been acting strange lately. You know you can tell me anything, right? I'm here for you."

 _I can't Sam, I'm sorry._

"Of course I know, I guess I'm just tired; it's been a long week."

"Are you sure?" Sam pressed on.

 _No, I'm not alright, I need help, I need –_

"I'm sure."

He didn't look satisfied, but he shrugged and seemed to accept her lie. "Just know that I'll always be there for you. After all," he added, "I drag myself every week to this ponderous, dreary old library just for you. Truthfully, my mother shoves me out of the door, drives me here and pushes me down the stairs, but the dragging does happen in immense quantities to get all the way to this lonely little desk so far, far away from the door."

She couldn't help smiling a little, and the tension in her chest eased a little. Since he'd moved to Boston in first grade with his family from Spain, they'd been best friends, and he had always been there for her through her life. She remembered swinging together on the tyre swing hanging from the tree outside his father's farmhouse, finishing his overdue homework so he wouldn't get in trouble, dressing up as pumpkins for the school Halloween festival, building sandcastles and collecting shells washed up by the gentle waves onto the wet golden sand, picking out an outfit for him the day before the junior prom, laughing as he jiggled his nose at her, his eyes crossed and a bit of food stuck between his teeth. It was a tangle of sunshine and warmth and happiness.

She looked at him now, at his disorderly sable hair pushed carelessly behind his ears, his mischief-lit ashy grey eyes, the freckles sprayed unevenly over his nose. "You and me both know the _real_ reason you are motivated to take those few steps to the back of the room and plonk your royal behind onto one of these benches is Lexy Lawrence."

His ears at once turned a peculiar shade of pink. "That is absolutely untrue, I do not whatsoever have an immense crush on her and definitely do not come here faithfully every week just to ogle at her godly beauty– "

She raised her eyebrows pointedly at him. Lexy had joined their school last year, and had at once become part of the popular clique. Fayth had rarely conversed with her, though she was kept updated on her life by Sam's continuous commentary. He knew her favourite jelly bean flavour (raspberry) and her favourite lip gloss colour (French rose) and which days she went for ballet lessons (Saturdays). The funny yet not-so-surprising thing was, Lexy did not know Sam even existed – well, not really. Fayth smiled a little, remembering the day Lexy had spoken to Sam for the first ime, and he'd proceeded to have a three-part breakdown of his stature.

" _Hey, Samuel right?"_ she'd said. " _Would you mind shifting over a bench so Mora could sit behind me?"_ Of course, Sam had chosen to sit right behind her so he could marvel at the beauty of the back of her head while she sat in front of him, unaware.

At being personally addressed by his one true love, Sam had seemingly been overtaken by speechlessness. Going red from head to toe, he'd slowly shrunk into the wall behind him, face completely blank. Fayth had kicked him under the table, and he'd yelped back to reality.

" _Love, I'd sure to – I mean sure, I'd love to – move to the other bench that is. Nope, don't mind at all!" he'd shouted, stumbling over his words._

Lexy had given him a strange, confused look, and he'd retreated hastily to a bench at the far corner of the classroom, muttering dolefully to himself – something of a self-consolation, she supposed.

Something touched her shoulder lightly, and she blinked back to reality. Sam looked exasperated. "I know I talk way too much, but you're the only one who ever tolerates it, so you've got to stop zoning out on me like that. I was _going_ to say – Lexy isn't even here today." He looked around mournfully. "Oh Lexy, Lexy, wherefore art thou, Lexy?"

"Maybe you should save the Shakespeare for literature class next week – I'm sure Miss Amanda would love to finally have some contribution from your side. Besides," she added, "Wherefore in literal terms means, 'why', not 'where', so – "

" – So you'll stop ruining my moment before I throw my keychain at you again," he warned, holding up the little Cheshire Cat keyring.

It smiled heinously at her from beneath his fingertips.


	2. Chapter 2 - The Stars that Shine

2

The Stars That Shine

The night was silent; the streets were lonely. Fayth wandered along the sidewalk, one hand clutching her satchel close to her body. A vast purple expanse of twilit sky arced overhead, stars beginning to flicker to life as the sun dipped lower and lower until it completely disappeared into the depths of the horizon. She raised her head as the cool night air blew softly past her, ruffling the pleats of her skirt, feeling the chill set in against her sweat-dampened hair. The library room had been stuffy and hot, and the refreshing wind on her skin was a welcome feeling. It brought with it the mingling scent of cropped grass and night-blooming hydrangeas, takeout food from the lit-up McDonald's across the street and faint sea-salted air, blowing in from the harbour.

The WLC meeting had been the same as usual, yet quite different – despite the effort Fayth put into concentrating, her mind would inevitably begin drifting away, to bygone eras and lands far, far away. The words tumbling aimlessly from Gina's mouth had been nothing short of 'hogwash'; try as she might, she could not make head or tail of what she had been saying. It made her uneasy – she was habitually a steadfast learner and focused student, interested in whatever studies she was approached with (much to the anguish of Sam, of course). Not being able to comprehend and appreciate what she usually loved felt like she was slowly losing a small part of her. Not that it mattered – she seemed to be slowly losing her mind, as well.

Once the meeting was over, there had been the usual stream of chatter as the students had filed out through the library doors, and she'd quickly stuffed her notebook into her satchel before rushing out into the chilly evening – home was a good fifteen minutes away, and she hoped to get there before it was too dark. She had set off down the road, after waving to Sam as he'd hopped onto his cycle and pedalled away rather haphazardly, with an uncanny resemblance to the scruffy mailboy who cycled quite wonkily up to her door with the newspaper everyday, his mailbag askew and his face flushed, tripping over even the smallest of stones on the road as he made his hastily down the road.

 _Get there before it was too dark._ The words suddenly flashed back into her head, and her head jerked up sharply. The sky was nearing an inky blue, illuminated by only the soft glow of the streetlights. The faint haze of pollution from the city had blotted out over the stars, dulling their silver light. Fayth glanced at her watch - _9:15_. A small gasp of surprise escaped her lips; she'd had intended to reach home by now. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ She'd have to take the shortcut now, if she planned to reach in time to avoid her mother worrying. Hiking up her satchel with a determined face, Fayth began walking with a renewed pace, hurrying along under the dark that clouded over her.

Fayth turned again at the right corner, and found herself on a gloomy, unfamiliar street, the walls lined with graffiti and a singular street lamp flickering dangerously.

 _Hopelessly lost._

She felt like kicking herself. In high hopes of getting home, she'd turned into an alleyway that she presumed she knew, as a shortcut that would take her directly to the back of her apartment lane. A few wrong turns from then on, and she was wandering about like a broken compass, hidden in the dark depths of Boston's…. bad part of town.

She was a seventeen-year-old young girl, alone and defenceless, meandering along deserted alleyways – it was almost screaming for trouble. Trying to soothe her nerves, Fayth paused to catch a breath and then looked around for any signs to point her in the right direction. But no – there was no sign of life, no bright neon signs indicating clubs or diners, no vehicles within eye's sight. _When in doubt,_ she told herself, _go left._

She turned the other way and began walking again, this time more aware of her surroundings. After a few minutes of walking, she felt a strange nagging at the corner of vision, and turning slightly, she could see a man walking some distance behind her, clothed in all black except for his pale face.

 _Move._ The voice was instinctive, and she willed her legs to move faster as she walked. She was beginning to see a few parked cars now – could she be nearing the main road? She allowed herself another glance behind her – the mysterious man was still there, discreetly following her. And he was closer now, close enough for her to make out his dark leather jacket and the black mask concealing his lower face.

 _Faster._ She was close to jogging now, pumping her legs till they ached, rounding corner after corner. And yet the man kept gaining on her, despite his supposedly relaxed manner of walking. She'd heard stories of mobbing and… other things that happened in these alleys, and her heart lurched as she realized what might happen to her. There – lights! Almost running, Fayth rushed down the alleyway, hoping for something – anything. But she felt her heart sink as she reached the end of the street – it was one of the nightclubs, sealed away for special members and guarded by a burly bouncer, dressed in a trench coat with his arms crossed in a menacing demeanour.

The only way she could go now was right – but even as she turned, she felt her stomach go sour with fear. The street was a dead end; she had been herded right into this trap, unknowingly playing right into her assailant's hands. She whirled, and a moment later a dark figure slipped into the alleyway, advancing in a deliberate, slow pace, stalking towards her triumphantly. He knew he had won.

Fayth took a step back, tentatively, and felt the ground slip away from under her feet as she tripped and fell, hard, her back almost touching the alley wall. A shadow fell over her, blotting out the stars, gloved hands reaching. She could have sworn he was grinning under the mask, his black eyes wide and gleaming wickedly. A cornered animal, pressed up against an impenetrable wall, with nowhere to go and no one to call for. She considered screaming for help – but who would hear her now? Attempting to run was futile; she could tell by the build of her attacker that he would catch her within seconds.

 _No, this can't be happening…_ But it was – and she could feel that realization slowly seeping through her veins, cold as ice.

A metallic _zing_ resounded across the voiceless night. Gloved hands curled around a dagger, pulling it free from a sheath. The blade was corroded and twisted, blackened and serrated.

Made to torture.

He leaned down, his mask sliding away to reveal gnarled yellow teeth sneering at her, and pressed the tip of the dagger to her throat.

 _Trembling._ She was trembling, her fists clenched. She made an attempt to jerk her head away, but her jaw was caught roughly by a worn leather glove and forced upward. She could see his eyes, gaunt pits of madness, ravenous and savage. Something dark lurked there, something that had awoken from its slumber and was very, very hungry.

He raised the dagger, rusted metal and pain.

It never came down.

One moment he was crouching before, lips curled into a feral snarl, knife ready to strike – then he was gone, replaced by smoky darkness and barren streets.

 _Crack._ He flew into the air – she could briefly make out a startled look in his eyes – and slammed into the wall, head snapping against the peeling cement.

There was another figure now, another shadow-faced man clothed in darkness and those black, black gloves. The bouncer from the club. Fayth tried to stand; but her knees collapsed and she fell down again, palms stinging against the jagged glass shattered around her. She looked up again, hands frantically yet unsuccessfully scrabbling at the ground for a weapon. Her assailant was pinned against the wall now, struggling and choking as the new figure held his throat pressed – and squeezed. It would be over soon, Fayth thought. She would witness death.

Then, with renewed vigour, her attacker kicked out at the mysterious man, launching a blow to his stomach. He was dropped to the ground as the figure doubled over in brief pain; then they were a blur of shadows again, wrestling and fighting with inhumane skill as they tumbled across the street. Everything was blurring now, and _spinning, and…_

One of them was thrown to the ground, then – the mobber who'd followed her. The black clothed stranger put a heavy-booted foot up against his chest and pulled his collar up savagely, snarling something into his ear. Fayth could have sworn she saw two glistening white fangs when he opened his mouth, but she didn't trust her sight. Everything _was_ spinning, round and round and round. She was forced to collapse onto the ground, breathing hard. The attacker leapt to his feet the moment he was released, and ran like a shooting star till he was far out of sight.

Then the mysterious new stranger advanced on her.

The brawl with the mugger had knocked his sunglasses off, and as he came to stand over her, she felt a bolt of surprise at glimpsing his face. He was…. so young. Boyishly handsome, dark hair masking his forehead, fathomless hazel eyes shadowed in darkness. He couldn't have been much older than her. His expression was grim, though he no longer looked menacing despite the heavy black trench coat and boots. Surely at his age he would not harm her.

Surely.

He pulled off his left glove and held out his hand, watching her carefully. It took Fayth a while to realize he was offering to help her up. Cautiously, she reached out her own hand, gaze flickering warily to his intent face.

Their fingers brushed.

The air exploded.

No sooner had she clasped his hand, than a bolt of energy brighter than the sun, sharper than electricity, sparked through her veins, through every molecule of her body, blowing her backwards, an overwhelming feeling of shock and disturbance and change and… recognition.

Familiarity.

 _I know you._

But she didn't. He was a stranger.

Fayth grasped her fingers where they had touched his as the tingling died down, though every nerve seemed to still hang on edge. Her arms were trembling again, of their own accord. When she looked up, the boy was standing a few feet away, also clutching his hand. His face seemed more composed, but she could read shock etched in his eyes. Discomfort. Confusion. He didn't know what was happening either.

Before either could say anything, Fayth dashed forward and scooped up her satchel. The stars had all come out, twinkling in the sky. Slinging the satchel over her back, she began a hurried walk, nearly a jog, back onto the main street, away from the strange boy and his hands and his touch. When she turned back at the last moment, he was still standing there, one arm ungloved, watching, watching. She could have sworn his eyes shone green, luminescent like a cat in the night, under the bright light of the moon.

It was only later that she would realize; it has been a moonless night.


End file.
